


The Death of Red Hood

by BloodyBatsAndRoses



Series: RVN: Beyond Redemption [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Content Warning - transphobic characters, Dark Past, Foul Language, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Not Beta Read, Origin Story, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, Rating May Change, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change, in at least 2 languages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyBatsAndRoses/pseuds/BloodyBatsAndRoses
Summary: Is there a place in Toronto for a vigilante like the Red Hood, or will Jason have to finally face the prospect of hanging up the hood for good?It’s a prospect he’s seriously considering, especially after a gruelling experience that’s left him more vulnerable than—quite possibly—coming back to life. But fate it seems has a different plan in store for him. He isn’t, however, alone on this path. Two individuals step forward, forging their own path. They are each other’s salvation, and their own ruin. All that connects them is a bond that only guilt and penitence can create.Will a tenuous, fire-forged alliance be enough to withstand the darkness seeping into a city that has only barely begun to transform into something new and uncontrollable? Or will it consume them all, leaving them beyond redemption.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Batfamily (eventual), Jason Todd & Original Character(s), Jason Todd/Original Character(s)
Series: RVN: Beyond Redemption [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590517
Kudos: 18





	The Death of Red Hood

**Author's Note:**

> See translation/pronunciation keys at the bottom
> 
> Key character descriptions are a bit lacking as I'm still working out a way to organically share details without it interrupting the flow of the prose. So to cheat, I've also included something in the end notes.

The afternoon rush in the _Tim Horton’s_ coffee shop was beginning to die down. Jason sipped his hot chocolate, noting the bland sweetness didn’t compare to the handcrafted drinks he preferred from the Second Cup near his work. But the _Tim’s_ hot choc was far cheaper and the wiser option for Jason’s wallet right now. He was getting used to being on his own, and for the last three months he was doing… okay, all things considered. But he couldn’t even make it half a year before it all blew up in his face.

Well. At least it was all metaphorical, this time.

Jason checked his bank account once more from his phone, that unsettling feeling making itself very comfortable in his gut. Jason was so sure he made a safe pick. Tolerable roommates that minded their own business. A building with an inexpensive look where only the utilities saw a decent upgrade. It was far enough away from the city core that the rental costs wouldn’t be ludicrously impossible, even with roommates to split the rent. But Toronto, like every other major metropolitan city Jason’s been in, was plagued by housing costs and constantly rising rental fees. But most notoriously, even with efforts to curtail the trend, much of the property was prone to being bought out by foreign investors. Jason never questioned the landlord why he and at least a dozen others were getting kicked out. Once he saw the eviction notice slip under the door, he knew he needed to find a new place. The sooner, the better.

Once upon a time ago, Jason had a head for this market. In Gotham, he’d had alias after alias buying out properties and making a small fortune to fund his own mission against crime. He’d had the gall to think he was being righteous about some of his buying choices. How many people did he throw out onto the street because they couldn’t afford any where else to stay? He was pretty indiscriminate when buying out property, sometimes he never really double checked if the crack house he purchased really was a safe house for gangbangers and drug lords, or a legitimate safe haven for users trying not to OD on their next high. He shuddered to think that he could be so callous, but enough anger would do that to a man. And despite his awareness, Jason did fuck all to do a thing about it.

Jason took a deep breath and took another sip from his hot chocolate. Now was not the time for this. He had a decision to make.

He’d lose all of his savings if he rented a room at a motel—quicker than that at a cheap hotel, which he needed above all else for the doctor-mandated comfort. He didn’t have anything to give up that would cut down his expenses; his phone was prepaid and he used data sparingly—and only if he had the cash to spare, and he didn’t own anything that he could sell to earn him some quick money. His job, while part time, wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t find a new place to stay.

Starting over from literally nothing—not even any clothes on his back—was becoming more and more glaringly stupid the longer he sat there making his hot chocolate last. But if he made that call, Jason would never be able to get _this_ back.

_This_ wasn’t peace, but it was close enough. There were only three people right now who could poke and prod him for the finer details and he’d let them, two of whom did it out of a professional capacity. The third was also technically doing it out of a professional capacity. But, technically, the case had gone cold and had to be shelved. So for the last couple of weeks they were really just acquaintances that knew each other, from when they were kids. The circumstances were also... awkward.

Jason took another deep breath.

It was either the cop or the Bat. And Jason was far from ready to deal with _any_ Bat.

Jason closed the banking app and shut off his data. He might have to start visiting the bank if it meant not relying on his data anymore, which could cut into his commute. Depending on where he would stay and if he still had a job after tomorrow. Of course, he _could_ sever a specific service he’d come to rely on, if only just until he got back on his feet.

But would he manage it, however long it took? The sessions really were helping, and roof over his head or not, it wouldn’t matter how comfy he was if it meant the nightmares starting up again. For real, this time.

Taking another sip, Jason dialed his therapist’s number. Might as well talk it out with her.

“Dr. Hazelle Dela Monte.”

“It’s me.”

“Jason! How are you?” Hazelle—as she insisted Jason call her—still had some youthful energy for a Wednesday afternoon. At first Jason didn’t know what to make of how easily Hazelle was able to make the switch between her patients, but most of that was his trust issues with people in general. And then with therapists, no thanks to Arkham’s influence on his mental health.

“In a bit of a pickle,” confessed Jason.

“Mhm. A ‘bit’ or more than a ‘bit’?”

Jaosn sighed, almost relieved. Maybe because he didn’t need to dance around it, whatever that meant. “I mean, I’m fine. Kind of. This morning was great. Until I got kicked out, anyway.”

“Oh no! Tell me what happened.”

He clarified—he was evicted, not kicked out. There was a difference and it was somehow important that he make the distinction. Packed up his things and left as soon as possible. He had the whole day, but didn’t have much to take with him. There was no point prolonging his departure.

But it left him a whole day to sit around wondering where to go and what to do. Even though the answer was pretty, stupidly obvious and he was even stupider wasting all this time trying to be delicate about it.

“You’re not stupid, Jason. You’re worried.”

“But I don’t know what about.”

“We’ve established why you wish to keep your family away for the time being. You still need more time to heal. So, logically, the only option left to you is to make the call that you have possibly been waiting to make since you found yourself here. Shall we go over what you’ve shared about your pre-existing relationship with the detective? We may find an answer there.”

Jason sighed. He pinched his nose, the pressure alleviating some of that stress that was building. He counted to three and took a big, deep breath.

“I… I can’t trust him.”

“Hm. Is there a reason why you feel that?”

“Yes—no. I dunno.”

“Let’s walk it back. You two met when you were fifteen, correct?”

“Yes.”

_The ball was underway and he was standing there, watching, from the railings above. Smiling, a rogueish glint in his eyes._

“It ended poorly, however. It caused a strain in the business partnership between your fathers?”

The newspaper headlines were as clear as the day he read them: _‘WAYNE-MACMANUS PARTNERSHIP OVER: Criminal liason involving Wayne & MacManus scions kills hope of collab’_. His anger and guilt now was just as palpable as it was then.

“It… it wasn’t his fault.” Jason said that then, too. _“It was my idea—I shouldn’t have led him on!”_

“And if I recall correctly, neither of you were charged with anything.”

“We would have if his uncle got to destroy the evidence.”

“You mean if you hadn’t helped get him arrested.”

_“The danger you put yourseleves in, Jason! It doesn’t matter what you intended—the lack of awareness for your own lives and of others nearly cost you. You’ve gone too far.”_

A recording, a vulnerable child. A broken knee shattering all hopes of a dancer’s dreams.

_“Not far enough.”_

“I don’t blame him. I never blamed him.”

“Then perhaps what leaves you feeling uneasy is how it all ended and how you came to find him again.”

It was like a rock dropping into a calm lake. Jason struggled to steady his breathing. He waited, waited until the rippling waters stilled and the dirt settled back to the bottom, the lake once again clear and calm. And on the surface was a picture as clear as a large painting, the full truth reflecting back at Jason, unavoidable and inevitable.

The problem, as always, was never Shane. It was Jason. And how he got here.

“Reconnecting like that, after nearly a decade apart and out of touch. Whatever unresolved feelings you had back then are magnified and conflated with the trauma you’re trying to deal with now. Do you want to come in and talk about this further? My schedule is clear.”

Jason wanted to say no. To hang up and walk away and never look back. But he started to feel something sting his hand. Or was that… burning? A woman at a nearby table gasped and threw him some unused napkins.

“Your hot chocolate!” she cried as she got up to help. Jason jumped, realizing the vice grip that had squashed his still full cup, the hot chocolate spilled over his hand and drenching his sleeve. The woman huffed once Jason got most of the spillage under control. “You need to be careful! Is your hand okay?”

Jason smiled, embarassed by the ordeal. He’d dropped his phone on the table, the call still connected to Hazelle. He scooped it up and apologized for the disruption.

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” he said, to both Hazelle and the woman. He smiled at the woman in thanks and in apology and gathered his things.

“Jason, will I be seeing you?” Hazelle asked again.

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

Hanging up, he secured his things and went on his way.

#

Detective Shane Fowler leaned his head to the left as the stray energy blast flew past him. The bull pen was a chaotic explosion of startled cops and frightened visitors and new arrests. Three unis struggled to reel in the heavy meta, the inhibitor collar just barely clasped shut. Another stray bolt shot out from the meta’s eyes, this time causing a light fixture to explode.

“Get it together, people!” yelled the captain from his office. “Fowler, Evans—go help them!”

Evans dropped the sandwich he was eating.

“Wait, really?”

“I’m not looking at anyone else!”

“But, sir—”

Shane sighed. He set aside his paperwork and rolled up his sleeve. He could feel eyes trailing him as he crossed the bull pen to the holding cells at the far end of the room. He tried not to note how quiet it suddenly became.

“Back off, pig!” the meta growled. He spun, throwing the three unis off their feet. Shane pulled the device out of his pocket, pointed it at the meta and pushed a button. The meta charged another energy bolt from his eyes at the same time, but his collar sparked, shut off, and clasped shut around his neck.

The collar suddenly whirred to life, the surge of energy across the meta’s body shaking him until his eyes misfired. He cried out, clasping his eyes in his hands as he writhed on the floor in pain.

“Get him some first aid treatment,” Shane ordered one of the unis. “And next time, read the fucking manual.” He threw the device at another uni and returned to his desk.

A stiffled applause followed him back to his desk. He caught money exchanging hands as a couple detectives muttered a complaint over a lost bet.

_It is never happening, dumbasses._

“How’d you do that?” sputtered Evans. Some dijon mustard clung to his lips as he looked to Shane expectantly.

“Is that a serious question?”

“Um… yes?”

Shane pulled a thick manual out from under a stack of files on Evans’ desk. He had his own copy neatly tucked into one of his drawers, clearly giving it more care than Evans or any other cop in the precinct cared to do. He dropped the manual on Evans’ desk.

“It’s department issued. Came with the collar. Can sync with any of the collars to activate, deactivate, and force restart. I had to short his collar to get it to properly clasp; shorting activates an emergency feature for incidents like this, ensuring the collar actually clamps shut before it reactivates.

“It says here it works remotely. The range—”

“Is fifty metres. You should have known this already; we’ve had these collars for a month.”

“Yeah, after asking for them two months ago. It’s crazy how many more of these metas are coming into town. It almost feels like something’s going down.”

Shane stared, looking expectantly at Evans despite knowing that this was the most Evans was going to make of that conclusion.

“Right. Yeah. That’s what’s what.” _How the hell did this idiot even graduate the academy?_

Of course, given the police’s track record in pretty much every city in the world, those kinds of cops were a dime a dozen.

“Oh, last question,” started Evans. He didn’t wait for Shane to respond, “If the signal was, at most, fifty metres, why’d you get up to short that guy’s collar?”

Shane watched from the edge of his vision the straightened backs and turned heads all ready to hear what he had to say. What he said, however, left them disappointed. Some a little red in the face.

“To make a point.” Shane reopened his file and got back to work.

When Shane got promoted, he was once told that he’d have a thriving career working in Internal Affairs. He worked like he was IA and didn’t care if everyone hated him, which was—again—fitting for IA. But Shane didn’t want that for himself. His life wasn’t meant for filing paperwork after paperwork, hounding cops with a question and more about why evidence was mislabeled, or why a witness said one thing one day and another thing the next, or why the drugs were obviously a few pounds short of what was actually reported in the file. Or why someone was arrested for resisting arrest when they weren’t. And the like. If that was something he actually wanted to dedicate his life to, he would jump at the opportunity. But that was if he didn’t mind hating himself, and the world, more than he already did.

He was obligated to point these things out, because they were the right thing to do. But it was a far cry from a calling he desperately searched for as a teenager, from as far as enlisting straight out of high school, to coming home fucked up and more lost than ever.

He became a cop for a reason. And despite knowing all of the problems in the system that hurt everyone else more than it hurt any of them, it wasn’t something Shane could prioritize. At least, not in the way he could as an Internal Affairs officer, or as an activist protesting against the police. He already tried going at it the _other_ way, and he almost failed at that too. If he was going to make any impact, it would be here, working hard. Doing it the right way so that the right people would start noticing and following in his example

He rubbed his sore knee, cursing himself for getting so agitated so early in the day. It was only 3 PM.

Barring any undue interruptions, Shane had the day set to be as straightforward as an office desk job. He had no interviews lined up, and most of his pending cases just needed results back from the lab. He could go home, light a joint, and just wait for tomorrow. Or he could stop stalling and call Jason like he said he would after his cold case was shelved.

It’s been two weeks. And Jason was fine—as fine as a person can be when told that his assault and abduction case had gone cold and was going to be shelved. Jason understood, graciously, that there were more crimes that needed solving and that sometimes cases needed to sit in cold storage before they can be broken. A part of Shane was glad that Jason understood the way it worked; he’d hated himself extra special on the times he did have to tell the poor victim or their family that the case couldn’t take priority at the moment. But at the same time, Shane was still failing Jason. Failing him like he did when they were both fifteen, lost and angry, and completely abandoned by the people they called family.

Shane swore he was never going to let that happen again. And if it meant shelving Jason’s case—sure, fine. Whatever it took.

Still, Jason said it was fine to call if they wanted to just chat. If Shane wasn’t busy. And he wasn’t busy. Besides, was it even right to have this kind of entitled feeling regarding a long-lost childhood friend who literally died and came back to life years later?

_Wouldn’t know until you_ say _something, idiot._ Shane tapped his phone to wake the lock screen. The time stared back at him, a dour reminder that he still had time on the clock before he could even consider making plans for the evening.

‘Plans’. It could just be a coffee. Or a quick bite at a bar. It shouldn’t be this hard—

“Fowler, Evans. My office, please.”

Evans gave Shane an uneasy glance as they both left their desks for the captain’s office. Captain Khan was edging very close to retirement, but recent developments in organized crime in the city put an indefinite postponement on the date. The last time Shane was called into his office with Evans it was to hand over one of their cases to the OPP. That case was the last major job Shane was working before Jason was found on the beach. He only got street-level cases since, which to some—like Evans—felt like a demotion. To Shane, however, it was a foundation. And if the recent chatter among the informants were right, Shane needed to build a stronger foundation for what’s to come.

“Gentlemen—or rather, detectives.” Khan nodded to Shane with distinction, but Shane only shrugged. “It’s been close to, what, seven months since the Dawson-Jones case got turned over to the OPP.”

“A long seven months, if you don’t mind my saying, sir.” Not long enough. Evans still had the sense to be formal with his boss despite being comfortable enough to openly complain about the condition of his work.

“Are we really going to have this conversation again.” Shane was not asking.

“I’m not taking anything from you on this, buddy. You made it very clear after they took our case that you and I are not partners. You’re free to chase after street level thugs; I’m meant for more than this!”

“Evans, Fowler. Please, settle down.” Khan motioned to the seats before his desk. He waited for them to be seated before continuing, “In light of that event, I am only permitted to share with you that some progress has been made since, though not as much as we would have liked.”

Shane steadied his breathing.

“At this point, the RCMP have requested all provincial police to assign local law enforcement that is within the vicinity of an active investigation. For Toronto, you two were selected.”

“Hold on—the Mounties? This is _way_ bigger than it was last time!” Evans had the decency to sound worried, but his palpable excitement was almost nauseating.

“What’s the job.” Shane pushed the conversation back on track.

“A string of disappearances.” Khan pulled out 2 thick folders and handed one each to Shane and Evans. Shane noticed something hard inside the folder, implying the presence of a tablet or phone inside. Khan motioned for them to open it. “Inside,” he continued, “you’ll find a dossier with all the details—all up to date and relevant to your investigation—”

“You mean there’s more?” Shane asked. Evans looked to him, confused.

“Your case wasn’t the only one that got uploaded to the provincial level. Some jurisdictions even had to take it straight to the feds. Separate investigations, all different types of crimes. There is overlap that potentially connects it all to a greater criminal network, but there are some that just confuses the information, making the important stuff harder to pinpoint and track.

“Detectives, I cannot stress how important it is that you keep this to a minimum. Keep only each other in the loop; any unis you need to do some footwork, you give them the basic level of intel, and _just_ that. You’ll find smartphones in those folders with more detailed info than what’s on paper. Keep those phones under lock and key, you understand? No one gets their hands on those.”

Khan walked to his door and opened it to let them out. The briefing was over.

“One last thing,” he said, pulling Shane aside and speaking under muttered breath. Evans hung back, hanging onto every word said, “Should it all go south, wipe the phone. We’re barely five years coming back from the purge. The last thing we need is giving organized crime a free ticket back in.”

#

Shane was on autopilot when he got into Evans’ car. His mind pored over Khan’s warning, that ominous feeling growing. He barely caught who they were going to see first in their to-do list of interviews. Evans, however, barely contained his excitement. He twisted the ignition with extra _oomph_ , the engine revving to life in a way it was not meant to for its make-and-model. Shane pulled himself back to reality, shooting a precise glare at Evans through the rearview mirror.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Evans guffawed, “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You heard Khan.”

“Yes, I did.”

“But you didn’t hear the right part of what he said.”

Evans snorted in disbelief, “He said not to screw up and let the bad guys get our special phones.” He pulled his out and started swiping through it. Shane quirked an eyebrow; Evans was driving. Evans practically grinned when he met Shane’s eyes, “You think these phones are from CSIS?”

Shane grunted.

“Oh, come on. What’s with you? This is the first big case we’ve had in months. Well, I mean you had that unconscious nudist on the beach—”

Shane found it very hard not to slam Evans’ face into the steering wheel.

“—but that’s gone cold. We’re a team again, and I am not as thrilled as you that we have to partner up in this situation. But the feds have trusted _us_ with this case! You and me!”

“That’s what I meant.” Shane stared pointedly. Evans blinked. Then he frowned.

“What— _no_!” he protested. “This isn’t about the glory or whatever. Besides, I’m pretty sure Khan was warning you not to get overzealous with the manhunting again.”

The long-suffering sigh was a good thing to get out. Too bad the catharsis didn’t last as long as Shane wanted it to.

“Evans, I found out about a network of corrupt cops within the entire GTA. In my _rookie year_ as a cop.”

“And a smarter rookie would have left it alone if he wanted to keep his job by the end of the year.”

Shane bit back a remark; it wasn’t important.

“Times were different then,” he cautioned.

“It’s been barely half a decade since then.”

“And between then and now, what’s the main difference? Meta crimes are up but they’re random and as significant as a roughhousing drunk or a corner store robber. It’s on the rise, along with non-meta crimes, but the only thing that keeps these crimes from being totally damning is the absence of organization. Five years ago, we’ve had organized crime on the street level, in the underground, and within law enforcement. We’re not ready to handle something this big so soon.”

“Yeah, especially after you forced the government to completely overhaul the police academy selection process and the training.”

“To root out potential corruption from all levels.”

“I almost didn’t make the cut—did I forget to mention that? Again?”

“And _again_ , shouldn’t it worry you that you almost didn’t make it?”

Evans scoffed. “The screening process is broken.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “The point is, with the right manpower or not, if everything connects, we are looking at organized crime from beyond just the city—beyond the Greater Toronto Area, even. It might be across the whole province—or the country.”

“And that’s ignoring ties to international crimes.”

“Right.”

Evans made a turn. He drove through a couple of lights in silence, until he finally said, “Makes you wonder, you know. If our capes had stuck around like they do in the States. Imagine it—what if Valour hadn’t shown up when he did? I know he gave us a headache, but I have to admit: if it wasn’t for him, the whole city would have fallen apart long before you would have figured things out.”

Shane bit the inside of his cheek and kept his gaze on the things that passed in the window. What would he have done if Valour hadn’t shown up? What would he do now that the city’s once and only vigilante was gone?

“Valour’s dead,” he said. Evans frowned at that.

“I sincerely hope you’re wrong about that.”

He kept quiet and let Evans hold onto his fragile hope. The criminals were going to keep coming, bigger and stronger and with powers the city had never seen before. Shane knew that, as sure as he was that corrupt cops were going to escape the purge or creep back into the system no matter how hard and loud he cried foul over all kinds of injustices the law made against the people.

And where were the heroes? In the dirt, buried under guilt and shame. No soul brave enough to rise to take their place. All, except, maybe one who appeared suddenly, three months ago, as much a victim as he was a complete coincidence, somehow connected to all of this without memory or awareness that something had even started. Until today. Shane, reluctantly, took out his personal phone. His hopes—foolish, childhood dreams of his—were dead as soon as he sent the message:

__ **Hey. There’s been a development.**

**__I need to talk to RED.**

#

Ro almost missed the message. She was working hard in the shop, like she always did, welding together parts and testing out configurations. Between tweaking the design docs and pulling her hair out over her colleagues’ stupidity, and her own, Ro was prepared for another all-nighter in the NuxLite garage. Hm. She should remind Moose to schedule five hours for her tomorrow to nap, as this would be the third all-nighter in a row. Or was it the fourth? Either way, she still had to get to the commissions that kept the project funded from her own wallet; the univeristy had long given up on any promise of significant funding in the foreseeable future. Only the interest of curious city councellors have kept Ro and her small team of engineers in consideration, their nano-optics and the multitude of ways to apply them being the only thing keeping Ro from shuttering her garage for good.

She kicked aside the bin of the latest design failure, opting instead to sit by the baby she had been working on as a personal project for the last decade. The motorbike saw better days, but the exterior finishes were easy compared to the insane idea Ro thought she could bring to life based on the technology she had developed for school. Why the hell did she think a hoverbike that rode on its own, self-constructed hardlight track was even feasible? She sat on the floor, legs spread with her tools scattered across the floor. She was stumped. Today was not a good day.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her overalls. Ro slipped her oily gloves off and pulled her phone out to check the message—and the time.

“Shit, it’s afternoon alread—”

**__Come home! Danna’s missing! Help us find your sister**

Ro evened out her breathing. This wasn’t the first time she received an emergency message from her mother begging her to come home. It also wouldn’t be the last time Ro would expect her younger sibling to run away from home after an argument. It was becoming more and more frequent, the more D went through puberty. Only just beginning to figure out the whole genderqueer thing and realizing that ‘girl’ and ‘female’ were not what they really felt about themselves. None of this was new to Ro or her family, but her parents and relatives never learned from the last time. It cost them. A lot.

This time, Ro was going to do right by D and by her late _A_ _te*_. No matter what

She dialed D’s phone and went straight to voicemail. Right—it was Wednesday. D would be in school—except D’s school was starting next week, not this week. Where would an eleven-year-old be on a Wednesday afternoon?

Ro left the garage and went out past reception outside. No one except Moose occupied the room, who squeezed his large body out from behind the reception counter to follow Ro out the front door.

“I kept your food warm, in case you finally got hungry. Coffee’s got an extra three shots of espresso and your breakfast, lunch, and early dinner all simple enough to not upset your bowel movements. Fewer interruptions, the better, you said. I was ready to get in there since you’ve been in five days straight, and nine hours since you last ate… Uh, boss? You okay?”

Ro paced in front of the shop, running her fingers through her matted, greased up hair. She probably looked like a homeless maniac to pedestrians right now, so adled she was ignoring a free handout from the big man in the unicorn-print hoodie and matching sweatpants.

“Moose, did D come by today?”

“Yep, but only for a bit. You were so busy you didn’t notice when I knocked on the door.”

“Dammit! Why didn’t you make them stay?”

“Should I have? D only stopped by to ask for some shopping money. I gave them a fifty—but that’s okay! No need to pay me back… should I not have done that?”

Ro stopped in front of Moose, huffed, and took the extra large coffee. She downed it quickly, feeling some of the liquid spill out from her mouth and down her chin. The energy boost hit her hard, her mind clearing away any fuzz from lack of sleep.

“D’s missing. _They_ said D’s missing. If everything was fine, why didn’t D go home? Or call? Or pick up the phone?”

On the worst days D would stay with Ro for a few nights until their parents came to bring them home. Things would never really smooth over despite the gaslighting veiled as apologies (and Ro was still convinced her mother wasn’t as unaware as she seemed when she did it), but sometimes Ro can talk D out of a crazy plot to run away or some other scheme that would involve finally being free from their parents’ conservative rules. At eleven years old, it was a stupid plan and one that Ro couldn’t support financially. If she had that kind of money she was more than ready to take D with her and just start a new life away from their parents.

“Are you sure D isn’t at a friend’s house and forgot to check their phone?”

Ro looked at Moose, let her brain catch up, and agreed.

She messaged her mother, **__Are you sure D didn’t just forget to call back? Cld be at a friend’s house**

**__Not possibl. She was not going anywhere today**

**__THEY had plans today. U never listen**

If Ro was a litte more awake—or at least had three hours of sleep to reset her brain—she would have been a lot more tactful about that response. But it was done now and she had to hurry. The benefits of having her garage downtown, despite the ridiculous rent cost, was that she could just run to where she needed to be.

Ro had no idea where her energy was coming from, but the sooner she got to the bookstore the better. The queer-owned and operated establishment had a book signing today for a prominent trans author and D really wanted to go. Ro was supposed to go with them, but the time…

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—_

The bookstore had a line outside along its side. She tried to get through, but the store clerk watching the line stopped her.

“Hey, if you’re here for the signing, the back is over there—”

“I’m not here for this. I’m looking for my younger sibling. Goes by ‘D’, likes to wear black windbreakers and torn up jeans. Long black hair kept in a low bun, usually.”

The store clerk studied Ro carefully.

“I know D. See them here often. You’re their sister?”

“Yeah. Aurora Rose. Are they here?”

The clerk hesitated, for reasons Ro understood but couldn’t wait to assuage. She tried to push in, but the clerk stopped her. Understanding crossed between them, and worse: dread formed in the pit of Ro’s stomach. Ro wouldn’t be here to drag D home for their parents. And Ro wouldn’t not know where D would be. Not ever.

“I thought D was coming here with you?”

“My work went overtime…” Was all Ro could say. She was the worst. The absolute worst. She was failing D like she failed _Ate_ Nova. “Could—could you let me know if you’ve seen D? Just in case?”

“Of course.” They exchanged numbers. Ro left soon after, racking her brain over where D could have gone next.

She could be wrong; there could have been a fight and D suddenly felt discouraged or something. That could be the only reason. But Ro wasn’t sure she could go home yet. If it was a fight, there was only so much her parents could say before Ro lost her patience with them. That time was better spent trying to find D.

Her phone rang. Ro picked it up immediately, hoping the bookstore clerk had seen D and was calling with an update.

“Is D there? Did you find them?” she asked, barely sparing a second breath.

“No.” Ro’s heart stopped and twisted. This wasn’t the clerk—it was Ro’s mother. “Come home, please. We need you here.”

“I need to find them. It’s better I stay out here.”

“We’ve called the police already. They are here.”

Ro had the sense to pull the phone away before she swore. She pushed her hair back, grimacing as the grease stuck to her sweaty palms, “Why. They can’t help.”

“They’re the police, of course they can help. They can issue that AMBER alert.”

“Ma, that’s only if we _know_ D’s in danger. For all we know their phone ran out of battery! And did you tell them D’s a girl? Because they need to have an _accurate_ description if they’re going to help.”

“ _‘Tangina_ , don’t start this again, Aurora. This is not like with your _Kuya_ Ja—”

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Ro hung up and nearly threw her phone to the ground. It was always like this. _Always!_

Her phone rang again. This time Ro checked the caller ID before picking up. This time, it was Moose.

“What is it?” A thought came to her. “Is D there? Did they come back?”

“No,” Moose said, a little disheartened, “but I’m worried about you. You can’t expect to find D like this. You need to rest.”

Ro wanted to shout again, to scream into the sky and turn the world upside down. She didn’t want to stop, or leave it to the police. She had to keep going until she found D, before it was too late. Before she was too late.

But Ro was not going to be helpful running on caffein and no food in her belly, with barely a wink of sleep. She could let the cops do what they can, and once she refueled, resume her search for D.

There was one thing Ro was sure of, it was that she was going to figure it out herself. Even if it means going to the extremes to do it.

#

He read the text for what would be the umpteenth time that evening.

Jason’s session with Hazelle lasted a good hour and he spent the rest of the day looking up shelters to stay at from a library computer. He didn’t see the message until another hour had passed and he checked his phone to see if the battery needed recharging yet. The text made his heart drop into his stomach.

In his youth as Robin, he’d seen enough calls from the Commissioner’s office by way of the Batsignal. Over time, once he finally re-integrated himself into the family (before taking himself out of it a few other times) he’d get messages for breaks in cases that felt a lot like Shane’s text. Except, he wouldn’t just _text_ if there was a real development, right? He’d at least call.

Like he said he’d call after he put Jason’s case on hold?

What—no, that was—that was _irrelevant._ He’d just talked about this with Hazelle: _Jason_ asked for the space and Shane gave it. And Jason was _thankful_ for that.

A text out of the blue like this, though. This was more than asking him out for a coffee.

“Asking me _what_?” he muttered to himself. The guy next to him looked at him funny before returning his attention to the monitor. Jason noted the several windows opened to news articles about the concerning rise in unusual crimes in the city. He looked to his phone again and he sighed. Jason picked up his things after logging off; he’ll call back once he got out of the library.

He didn’t make it two steps out of the library when a kid stumbled into him. Jason dropped everything to catch the kid, but he was up and running again, barely glancing over his shoulder. Bystanders all gawped in alarm at the scene, one kind enough to help Jason pick up his bag. He couldn’t help but notice two men across the street staring in his direction, weighing a decision based on the way they shifted their weight on the balls of their feet. Jason gave them a pointed glare. They did the smart thing and walked away.

He thanked the stranger and checked his belongings. It was then he realized his cell phone was gone.

“Sir?” he called back the stranger. “Sorry, did you see my phone?”

“Can’t say I have.” The man went as far as showing his pockets for Jason, though it felt excessive. They both looked in the direction the kid went, who was already long gone by now.

“Anything stick out for you from that?”

“It was all a blur. Best bet, he was wearing a black jacket and had ripped-up jeans.”

Jason racked his mind back, replaying the events and fishing out for more specific details. The kid wore a hoodie, which fell off his head when he knocked into him. He sounded young—very young. Young enough that he could have passed for a girl.

“You know where I can find a payphone around here?” Jason asked the stranger. “I’m still a bit new in town.” The old man pointed him in a general direction and was on his way. Jason fished for a quarter from his wallet. Thumbing it, a different idea came to his mind.

Shane wanted to see the Red Hood. Might as well make it an official visit, rooftop and all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes:  
> Ate (pronounced "ah-teh"): Older/Elder sister  
> Kuya (pronounced "koo-yah"): Older/Elder brother  
> 'Tangina (short for 'putang ina'): son of a bitch (to put it lightly; it's pretty foul. Really foul. Do not repeat in polite company)
> 
> \---  
> Character cheat sheet:
> 
> Jason is mixed race in this continuity. Is of Irish/Mexican-American, and Filipino descent but these details haven't been fully known to him until a short time before the events that put Jason where he is right now. (Which, in and of itself, is its own story)
> 
> Shane is African-Canadian, however he did grow up for a short bit in the UK before moving permanently to Toronto with his late parents. Is adopted. Has a secret.
> 
> Ro is Filipino-Canadian, although this part is fairly obvious if you're familiar with the language.


End file.
